


Chasing The Snitch - Drabbles and One Shots

by gracediamondsfear



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Babies, Drabbles, F/M, Fluff N Smut, Food Fights, Hogwarts Professors, Locker Room Sex, One Shot Collection, Quidditch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-07-16 06:37:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16080521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracediamondsfear/pseuds/gracediamondsfear
Summary: Just a collection of the little prompt challenges and drabbles that I write on my tumblr for m'ladies there.  Feel free to drop me an idea and I'll see if it speaks to me :)  Thanks everyone!





	1. The Reconciliation Chamber

**Author's Note:**

> This is from a prompt sent to me from the Five Word Prompt Challenge: "Don't you dare walk away!"

Draco and Hermione stood in front of Headmaster McGonagall, their combined anger, frustration and humiliation dropping the temperature in the room by at least ten degrees. They’d both been on staff at Hogwarts for three years: Hermione as Muggle Studies Professor and Draco as Potions Master for first through third year students.

And in that time there had been not a single moment of peace.

“It isn’t often that I have to break up fights between professors,” McGonagall said, raising an eyebrow, amazed at how both of them looked exactly as they had first year, standing in front of her being scolded for sneaking out after dark. The same pouting frowns, same hunched shoulders of embarrassment. “Twelve year olds, yes,” she said, shuffling through a stack of parchment. “The occasional Quidditch brawl of course, but this is…well…” She finished with a sigh.

Hermione glanced in Draco’s direction, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing at his “hundred galleon shirt” dripping with congealing gravy, his usually flawlessly styled hair stained and soaked with pumpkin juice. He caught her staring and snarled audibly, narrowing his eyes. She couldn’t help but notice a drop of the golden liquid glistening on one of his long lashes.

But anyone would notice that.

“Minerva…if I may,” he began, adopting his usual purring voice of persuasion. Hermione had watched him use it successfully on half drunk witches at the Leaky, not to mention a few “very mature” seventh year students who always found themselves staying after class with “questions about homework” that they just couldn’t bring themselves to ask about during class.

“You may not, Mr. Malfoy,” the headmistress cut him off with a single finger raised. She hadn’t been taken in by the Malfoy’s bullshit for fifty years…why start now?

Hermione snorted in laughter and Draco shot her a look of disdain as McGonagall went on and on with her standard speech about how they were supposed to be role models to a new generation of wizards. While she wandered off on a tangent about how the two of them were a perfect example of how the wizard world had unified after the war Draco watched the chocolate ice cream that was melting into Hermione’s hair drip down onto her shoulder, his eye drawn to the juice that soaked her shirt enough that he could see it clinging to her skin, the strap of her white bra clearly visible. Not that he cared. Not that he was looking at her breasts.

“I would like to think that two fully grown adult wizards could refrain from reducing themselves to a food fight in the middle of lunch!”

“I’m sorry,”

“Sorry,”

They both muttered, hanging their heads in shame, Hermione dragging the toe of her boot across the stone floor. It really had been ridiculous.

“Of course you are. You’re always sorry. Every time we meet like this. But I’ve had enough. I dare say the whole school has had enough. Although your battles are obviously entertaining to the younger students, it’s becoming something of a distraction to everyone else, wondering when another hex is going to fly by their face a they walk down the hall to lunch!” Hermione cringed remembering back to the beginning of the school year. A particularly feisty argument between the two of them had resulted in a misdirected Opugno and a first year being stabbed in the arm with a quill. “Whatever it is that is keeping the two of you from working together peacefully will be settled today. In The Reconciliation Chamber.”

Both of them snapped to attention jumping to speak at the same time.

“I hardly think –“

“It’s not necessary-“

“We can work this out-”

They both pleaded their cases frantically but it fell on deaf ears.

“Enough. You’re both expected at the chamber entrance by four p.m. And you will stay until you meet some sort of resolution. A PEACEFUL resolution.” With a flick of her wand, the door to the office opened signaling the end of the meeting.  “Perhaps you could clean yourself up before then.”

As soon as McGonagall left, Draco stormed for the door.

“Where are you going?” Hermione asked, a little too sharply. What did it matter?

Draco stalked back towards her, his eyes burning with humiliation and anger, getting close enough that she stumbled back against the wall.

“I’m going to steal something from the kitchen. I have a feeling we’re going to miss dinner.”

 

****

 

Draco was at the chamber first, pacing in front of the door in his usual black pants and tight black sweater, the tips of his platinum hair still damp from a shower. Hermione wandered up moments later and leaned against the wall, doing her best to not watch him walk, the muscles of his shoulders moving under the cashmere, the way his fingers curled around his wand, clenching and releasing, something he did when he was tense. She only picked up on these habits because they’d worked together for so long.

They were details anyone would notice.

“For God’s sake, will you stand still for a minute?” she asked through gritted teeth.

He glanced over at her, his upper lip curled into the usual bitter sneer that he reserved especially for her; particularly when she tried to order him around. _Sit down. Be quiet. Stand still, don’t slurp, quit fidgeting,_ like he was a five year old. And now, instead of stopping he paced faster, nearly stomping his feet, keeping his eyes locked on hers; her big brown eyes, fiery with energy, her hair freshly washed (with some…berry scented shampoo that he could smell from ten feet away) pulled back into a messy knot at the back of her head, thick curly tendrils of it brushing against her cheeks. Her stupid hair.

“Ah, professors! Glad you’re on time,” McGonagall called out, gliding up the last steps of the staircase, four Prefects with her, giggling behind their hands. “As you know, the rules of the Reconciliation Chamber are that your meeting must be verified by prefects NOT of your House. They will not be in the room with you, they cannot hear your discussion but they will be able to see you through the charmed mirror on the wall just there.” She pointed across the hallway to a fairly unobtrusive mirror about two feet square made of what looked like cloudy, mottled glass.

“But they’re children!” Draco spat, nearly causing one of the Hufflepuff prefects to pass out. He wasn’t known as the friendliest professor in school and thy were sure that this was somehow going to result in a detention. “This is ridiculous, Headmistress. I’m not going to…”

“When you act like children Mr. Malfoy, you are, unfortunately, subject to children’s rules. Oh, and one more thing…your wands,” McGonagall said, holding out her hand. “Please.”

 

**4:05**

 

Upon relinquishing their wands they entered the room, the door disappearing behind them, sealing them into the small chamber. They could not use magic, no hexes, no curses, no apparition. It was as if they were reduced to fighting like…muggles. The room itself was sparse; plain stone, windowless walls, a few lit candle sconces, a table and two chairs and a couch. Draco immediately flopped down on it, laying back with his feet on the armrest, hands clasped behind his head.

“This is fucking ridiculous, babysat by sixteen year olds,” he said. “Taking my wand. And for what? We used to have murderers running around the school who suffered less punishment. THIS IS BULLSHIT!”

“Draco! They’re right outside! Watch your language!”

“Are you deaf Granger? The old crone said they can’t hear us. FUCKING TWATS,” he yelled, to make his point. “SUCK MY DICK, MY PRECIOUS PREFECTS!”

“You’re disgusting,” Hermione said, but she turned away from him so he wouldn’t see her trying not to laugh.

 

**4:30**

 

“So you’re just going to lay there and sleep?” She asked, standing over him. “You have no desire to get out of here? To work through this? You want to spend the night with me in here?”

Draco’s eyes flew open, the corner of his mouth curling into a smile as he prepared a joke.

“Don’t,” she said. “You know what I mean, you pervert.”

His smile faded in a blink and he stood up.

“That,” he said, pointing one long finger at her. “That right there is what makes my blood boil.” He was standing far too close to her. Close enough that she could smell his soap, see the pulse pounding in his neck. “You don’t know the first thing about me but you assume I’m a pervert. You assume I’m a liar, a bigot, a…a…fucking scoundrel. Everything you think about me is the worst possible thing. It’s no different from how I treated you back then.”

“Oh please. It’s very different.”

“How? What’s different? Making assumptions? Not listening to the other side? Not bothering to find out the truth? How is it different? Tell me, Granger,” he said, leaning in so close that if there were a sudden earthquake, if the earth were to tip an inch on its axis, their lips would be touching. “Please, I’m begging you.”

He must have realized how…precarious their position was because he backed off almost immediately, his cheeks red, eyes darting towards the mirror on the wall. Her neck was feeling far too warm, her senses bombarded by the heat coming off his skin, his scent, his eyes flashing a dark, mesmerizing silver that she’d never been able to resist, even when they were kids. She turned to walk away and he grabbed her elbow.

“Don’t you dare walk away from me,” he said, still holding her arm, his eyes unable to move from the rosy pink of her lips, even if they were frowning. “You wanted to get this over with, let’s get it over with. Lay it all out on the table so I’m not wearing next Tuesday’s tea when you get a bug up your ass about my punctuality.”

“It’s not about punctuality!” She said, wrenching her arm free. “It’s about you saying we would get together to discuss the Muggle vs Wizard Medicine seminar and you never showed. I was standing around for half an hour while you flirted with Eleanor Braithewaite!”

“Flirting!? She’s my student! She had a question about homework!”

Hermione snorted and rolled her eyes. “It’s amazing she’s made it to sixth year with all the questions about homework she has. Isn’t it?”

“What does it matter to you?” He asked, laughing. “Besides, the seminar isn’t for six fucking months, Granger. Lighten up! We’re both smart enough to put something together that will impress the Ministry.”

“Well well well,” Hermione said, crossing her arms. “Malfoy finally admits I’m smart. Somebody conjure the confetti.”

 

**5:45**

 

“All you do is pick. Pick pick pick. Everything I do you have some asinine commentary about,” he said, sitting at the table, tracing the wood grain with his fingertip. “Why must you walk so loudly, _Malfoy_. Why don’t you ever sit at the staff table, _Malfoy_. Why were you late for the points meeting, _Malfoy_. Why can’t you just throw yourself off the astronomy tower _Malfoy_.”

“Don’t say that,” she said quietly. “Don’t you ever say that. I would never say something that cruel. Not even then.”

They stared each other down for a moment and Draco finally nodded, his lips in a tight line.

“You’re right. Maybe that’s just my conscience.”

“Oh poor you. Poor Malfoy isn’t as popular as he once was. A childhood filled with regret. Well we all did things we didn’t want to do! We’re all fucked from the war. We all have things we can’t shake.”

“Yeah, I know.”

 

**6:15**

 

“Maybe one day you could apologize. Or is that too much to ask? You could just say sorry for calling you a Mudblood. Sorry for implying you were dirty, a magic thief, worthy of extinction. Sorry for making you feel worthless, bringing you to tears every time we met, making your life at school miserable.”

He stood up from the table, his hands deep in his pockets. He’d always meant to apologize to her but it never felt right. The words didn’t seem like enough. He could do what his father always did to make amends: buy her an expensive gift, but he knew her well enough to know it wouldn’t work.  _“Sorry I tried to extinguish your race…here’s a few daisies”_  

“Do you think I don’t regret that?” He asked, standing in front of her, looking down at her tear filled eyes. There was a tone of desperation in his question that made her heart ache. He searched her face for the answer, shaking his head. “You think I don’t want to go back and change all that? The asinine things I said as a kid, the things I believed? You don’t think I still look at you that way do you? Hermione?”

She looked up at him and shook her head. “I know you don’t. Still, it’s nice to hear the words.”

 

**7:30**

 

“Look, the two of us are too volatile to ever…live peaceably. We both get under each other’s skin,” Hermione said, looking at her feet. “For some reason.” If she looked at his face when she made her suggestion the words would never come out. “We should just agree to do our jobs and stay out of each other’s way. I won’t talk to you…” she said, swallowing loudly. “…and you can ignore me.”

For a long time Draco didn’t answer and she felt her stomach roiling with acid, her throat tight with tears. This wasn’t the reconciliation she wanted. Not really.

“That’s what you want?” He asked quietly. “To pretend I’m not here?”

“It’s obvious that’s what you want. If you think that all I do is pick at you, nagging and complaining. You don’t like talking to me…”

“There you go again, assuming the worst, thinking I’m still the jerk I was ten years ago! I asked you if that’s what you want,” he said, walking closer to her. A few more steps and she’d be trapped. Her heart was pounding in her chest. “Do you really want me to pretend you’re not here?”

“Why not?” She said, finally looking up at him. “It would give you more time to chase underage witches.”

“Why does that bother you so much?” He said throwing his hands in the air. “And there you go again assuming I’m some sort of letch. I’m not _chasing_ underage witches. I’m not chasing anybody. I can’t help it if they have a crush on me, but I’m not interested in them!”

“Oh right! A flock of girls falling all over themselves to lean over your desk,” she said, mimicking the act, bending forward and squeezing her breasts together with her arms. He had to look away.

“Hermione I don’t…”

“Not to mention Professor Oatstraw who always seems to need a private meeting with you…”

“I don’t give a shit about what Oatstraw wants! I’m not interested in her!” He took another step closer and she was backed up to the wall, her fingers digging into the rough edges of the stone.

“I’m not interested! I’m not interested!” She said in a sing songy voice. “A young single wizard and he’s not interested in all this female attention. Please! So who is it then? There has to be someone. Tell me Malfoy, who are you interest-“

Before she could get the word out he grabbed her shoulders and kissed her, hard. Harder than he’d intended for their first kiss, but she’d made him so crazy, mocking him, poking, poking, poking at him. Was she really that dense?

Hermione melted against the wall, her lips opening under his, their tongues slipping together as she wrapped her arms around his neck. He pulled away, his forehead pressed against hers, doing his best to catch his breath, his hands running up and down her sides.

“You, you dumb witch. I’m interested in you!”

She smiled and he leaned in to kiss her again, covering her face and throat with nibbling pecks, pulling her earlobe between his teeth while his hips, his chest, his everything was pressing the breath from her lungs. He pulled away, running his fingers through her thick, still damp hair, tucking it behind her ear.

“Oh,” she said, speechless for the first time in her life, giving him that lopsided smile that he’d loved ever since fourth year. “I’m…Well, I’m interested in you, too.”

But before he could kiss her again he heard another voice, a voice from outside the room, a tight, throat-clearing sort of sound to get their attention.

“Ah…Mr. Malfoy, Ms. Granger. I might…remind you that your…your…progress…is being monitored by the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw prefects,” McGonagall said.

Both Hermione and Draco smiled as they heard muffled giggles coming through the heavy wooden door. The door that would only appear when a reconciliation was achieved.

 


	2. Rise And Shine Sweet One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another from the Five Word Prompt challenge: "Rise and Shine Sweet One"

In the morning she pretends to sleep.  She’s an “exhausted” new mother after all and it’s a luxury she’s allowed.  In truth she’s found that she can’t wait to get up in the morning to see the new things that Minnie will do…the grand mountains she’ll climb; be it rolling over or grabbing a toy, finding her own foot or blowing raspberries. They’re all amazing. But she likes to pretend to be asleep when she hears Minnie whimpering for her breakfast or to be changed, because Malfoy doesn’t realize she can hear him.

He nudges her once when the baby cries, but she doesn’t move and after a minute he gets up with a loud sigh and shuffles out of the bedroom.

“What’s this, what’s this?” He coos, wandering into the nursery next door. “What is all the fuss about Miss Minerva?”

They’d named the baby for McGonagall after hearing she’d passed away. Of course Draco would never admit to admiring the headmistress and proud Gryffindor in public, but Hermione knew that he loved her and in the end it had been one of only three names they could agree on. He hadn’t wanted to discuss baby names at all, really. Or paint colors or birth plans.

_“Plans? Why do you need plans? There’s only one way for it to arrive isn’t there? It’s not going to burst from your ear.”_

They’d only been married two years when she’d gotten pregnant and as much as Narcissa had been climbing the walls for a grandchild, they’d not even discussed a timetable for starting a family. It was all a wonderful surprise. And yet…

_“I’m not going to be a good father,” he’d warned her, his voice stone cold and perhaps a bit terrified. “I don’t come from…good parenting stock. I was a rotten kid from a rotten father with role models that were literally the embodiment of evil…so I hope you don’t expect very much.”_

_“I expect quite a bit Malfoy,” she’d said, not buying his usual seven o’clock self-loathing routine for a minute. “You’ll be exactly the father you want to be. If you’re afraid you’ll be shit at it then you’ll just have to try harder, won’t you?”_

_“I’m not cuddly,” he said, as if he hadn’t heard her. Once he got on a roll, sitting in his leather armchair with his whiskey, playing the villain as a fire roared in the background it was hard to rouse him out of it unless she actually stood in front of him and took her top off and right now didn’t seem like the appropriate time. “I don’t really like…children. Remember I made that first year cry? The one who bumped into me?”_

_“Well…” Hermione said, thinking of how to choose her words. “You weren’t…really yourself that year were you? No one’s expecting you to be….Neville Longbottom for Merlin’s sake. You’re getting worked up over nothing.”_

 

From the bedroom she listens to Draco opening and closing drawers, picking out a fresh pair of pajamas.

“You have more clothes than your mother and that’s saying something,” he says and Hermione smiles, deciding to get up.

He’d been worried throughout her pregnancy, bringing up various things that she’d never even thought to worry about.

 

_“What if she has my hair? This insane white hair and your dark eyes? That won’t look right! Worse yet, what if she has your hair? Gods! It just…I don’t think we were meant to breed, Granger.”_

 

He would wake her in the night.

 

_“I’m very clumsy. I know you can’t tell because of my excellent skills in both Quidditch and potions and…other arenas,” he crooned. “But I dropped one of my mother’s dragon statues once and it shattered into a thousand pieces. I broke my ankle trying to ice skate on our honeymoon, do you remember? I killed one of our peacocks with my broom! You simply can’t trust me around delicate things.”_

 

He would show up in her office.

 

_“I’m a picky eater, you know that. I won’t even go near broccoli. I hate tomatoes. How will I raise a child to try new things if I won’t even eat oysters?”_

 

He protested so much that near the end she actually started to worry herself. She knew deep in her heart that everything would work out but his negativity started to gnaw at her. Pansy and Ginny, even Luna had expressed complete surprise that Malfoy would agree to get married much less have a child and they helped to put her anxiety at ease.

 

_“I thought he’d be the mysterious, brooding loner for life!” Pansy said to her. “You must have quite a hold on him.”_

 

When she went into labor he’d flown into a panic, disapparating from the Manor at three in the morning, the moment she started having contractions, dragging the healer from his cottage in his pajamas and holding him hostage for the eighteen hours it took for her to be ready. He’d paced outside the guest bedroom she’d given birth in, not hearing a word of reassurance from his parents or Ginny or Luna, confident that whatever was happening behind that closed door was killing his wife and he was going to exact swift and bloody revenge on whomever had caused it.

But then he heard her cry. He’d heard little Minnie Jean Malfoy screaming to see her father as Hermione held her in her arms; just a little redfaced bundle with a dusting of tightly curled brown hair and bright silvery blue eyes. Draco had rushed into the room, nearly throwing himself at the bed.

_“She’s here? Oh Gods, she's here. Is she OK? Are you OK?” He whirled around, glaring at the healer. “Why was she screaming like that? You said you would help her. I’ll rip your throat –“_

_“Draco…” Hermione always had been the only one who could talk him down. The only one who could soothe the savage beast. “Come meet your daughter.”_

 

And now there was one other.

 

She climbs out of bed and pulls on her robe, listening as Draco Malfoy, The Terrifying Slytherin Death Eater, sings an old French children’s song - Le Petit Bossu - to their baby. If he knew she was listening he would never do it again, so she hangs back in the hallway, listening to the floorboards creak as he moves around the room.

“There then,” he says, after a minute, “all dressed and clean and ready for mummy. Right? What do we say when we go get mummy? Rise and shine, sweet one! Baby’s hungry.”

He swings the door open with Minnie hugging his shoulder and finds Hermione leaning against the wall with her arms crossed over her chest, a sleepy, contented smile on her face.

“Good morning,” she says, holding her hands out to take the warm and squirming bundle.

“Your daughter woke me up with her wailing,” he says. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole house was awake.”

“Yes dear,” Hermione says, leaning forward to kiss him, the baby squealing and wiggling between them. “And if not her, then I’m sure your singing would have done it.”

He narrows his eyes and looks down at Minnie who is smiling up at him, reaching for his soft, faded t-shirt that he sleeps in every night. He gives her a tiny smile and then clears his throat.

“Yes, well, I’m going back to sleep. Parenting is exhausting. I’ll never get the hang of it.”

“No,” Hermione said. “Of course not.”


	3. Just Make Sure You've Eaten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five Word Prompt Challenge: Just make sure you've eaten

Hermione sat behind her desk in the Muggle Studies classroom, chin balanced on her hand as she stared out the window. A few stray leaves blew past, bold against the blue sky and she followed their path with her eyes.

“Have you been petrified, Granger?”

Draco’s voice startled her out of her trance (her mind had been both wandering and racing lately) and she turned to look at him, forcing a smile.

“No! I’m good. What can I do for you, Draco?”

“Well for one thing, you can tell me what’s on your mind. I called you from the door three times, declared the building on fire, proposed marriage and still you didn’t hear me. Is everything ok?”

The two of them had been hired on at Hogwarts shortly after the war, and with the others of their class going off into the wizard world to do other, grander things (Aurors and Ministry Officers and Restoration Workers) they were forced to forge some sort of …friendly bond.  No one else could understand what it was like to be around during that time, an unwilling soldier during that time. Theirs was a terribly unique generation of Hogwarts students. No one else could understand what it was to be at the center of the Potter War.

Their residential suites were on the same floor and they often found themselves together in the common spaces, enjoying meals, having a drink after the students were in bed, walking the halls of the sixth floor together looking for ne’er-do-wells hiding in the shadows or trying to open the Room of Requirement for an afterhours party.

_“These kids today,”_ Draco would say, clucking his tongue and taking away points, even though everyone knew he was the veritable king of curfew breaking, his plots and plans and hiding spaces being legend within Slytherin house.

“I’m good, I’m fine. Everything’s fine,” Hermione said, gathering up her books and quills and shoving them in to the tiny beaded bag that she carried everywhere. “I was just…distracted.”

“Very,” he said, flopping down in one of the student chairs, propping his feet up on the table in front of him.

“What does it matter? It’s nothing! You seem fairly agitated about it though, is lunch that important to you?”

He couldn’t help but notice that her cheeks were flushed, that she couldn’t look him in the eye, something that she usually did with such steady self assurance that he was the one to be uncomfortable.

“Hermione Granger,” he said loudly. “Brightest Witch of Her Age, Shittiest Liar in The United Kingdom!”

“Can we just go down stairs please?” She asked, shoving his feet off the table. “McGonagall will have our heads if we’re not keeping our houses under control.”

 

 

“What are you doing this weekend?” Draco asked as they made their way up to the sixth floor after a lengthy staff meeting about using more discretion in awarding points. “There’s a reading at Flourish and Blott’s about the new mind healing potion controversy.”

“Oh! Shit. That sounds…that would be wonderful,” she said, sounding genuinely regretful. “But I’m…Ron’s coming to get me and we’re going to Skye for a few days.”

“And awaaay we go…” Draco sighed, rolling his eyes. “Let me guess…he sent you an owl of deepest apology with some amazing artifact from Paris and a promise of faithful devotion and now you’re deeply in love once again.”

“You…why would you say that? it’s nothing like that! We’ve just…”

“You’ve been in hate, in love, together, broken up,” Draco counted off on his fingers, “engaged once I believe, not speaking to one another and last I heard through the grapevine he was off shagging his way to Russia while you taught Muggle Studies.”

She flinched at that last part and he immediately regretted putting it so bluntly. He’d been working at…well, not being an asshole…this year and Hermione had eagerly agreed to tell him when he’d crossed the line.  Yet now she just hung her head, her cheeks flaring red again, her eyes squeezed shut as if holding back tears. He put a hand on her shoulder to get her to look up.

“I’m sorry. That was out of order. I…”

“No you’re right. It’s been…it’s been hard. But this time it will be different,” she said, as if assuring herself and not him. “There have been some issues between us…sticking points, but I’ve promised him that this time I’ll…” Her lips slammed shut as if she just realized she’d been speaking aloud.

“What?”

“I told him that I would…give..myself..that I would…we could…” she stuttered and trembled and Draco dug his fingernails into his palm to keep from grinning at her discomfort. “Nevermind. Why am I telling you this? You don’t care.”

His inner smile instantly faded.

“Hey..hey!” He grabbed her elbow to keep her from walking away. “Wait a second, that’s not fair. I wasn’t laughing at you, making fun…I’m honestly curious…as a…friend.”

“He just…he has more… _experience_ than me. He doesn’t know that I’m…that I…I’ve never…”

Now it was Draco’s turn to flush red. Not only at hearing something so intimate (and surprising) as the fact that Granger was a virgin, but because his head was suddenly filled with incredibly vivid and inappropriate images of her…not for the first time of course…but for the first time with her standing right in front of him. The only way out was to make a joke.

“Ahhh I get it now Granger,” he said, crossing his arms and nodding his head like a wise old sage. “You want me to teach you the art of seduction, seeing as I’m such a lothario around these parts.”

Thankfully she smiled and rolled her eyes, turning towards her suite. “Yes, right, that’s exactly it, professor.”

“I’m always available for tutoring love,” he called out after her. “Come by my suite around eight…just make sure you’ve eaten first.”

She threw him a look of exasperation before opening her door and he waggled his eyebrows before heading down the hall in the opposite direction, desperate for a drink, and suddenly needing very much to be alone.

 

 

Hermione slammed the door to her suite and dropped down hard onto the couch, her heart pounding uncomfortably fast; her cheeks burning.

He’d made jokes like that before of course, suggesting that the two of them would make an – interesting – couple, wondering what the papers would say, what Lucius would say, but they’d both laughed it off. There was no way he really meant it. There was no way that Draco Malfoy was actually interested in her.

Was there?

But sometimes - when she was particularly lonely, or had had more than two glasses of wine after dinner, or when she fell asleep while reading one of the books of wizard erotica that Ginny kept mailing to her – she would have dreams; dreams that woke her up gasping, her forehead prickling with sweat. And when she dreamt like that – it was never of Ron.

It was sex that had broken them up, sex that had stood between them and sex that kept them apart. Ron had been with Lavender before they were together and the first time he and Hermione had “taken a break” he’d quickly found comfort in the arms of a woman from the Ministry.

“You can’t expect a bloke to wait around forever, ‘Mione. Besides, no one waits until marriage anymore. Too old fashioned.”

Hermione wasn’t waiting for marriage though. She was waiting for that _feeling._ She wanted that warm, tingling, aching feeling that made waiting another moment impossible; that raw, feral _need_ that pulsed deep in her belly. It was a need that she’d never felt with Ron, even in the throes of their most passionate snogging sessions. But she knew she could feel it. She knew it was real.

She’d felt it in her dreams.

 

 

Draco poured himself a generous shot of firewhiskey and sat down at his desk, staring out the window at the sunset over the lake. Why had he said such a ridiculous thing? Why was he determined to permanently destroy any chance he had of being…anything to Hermione?

His attraction to her had come as a surprise. Not because of the bitter rivalry and cruel fights they’d had as children (a bitterness that could easily be looked back on as a crush), but because she wasn’t his usual type. He’d bedded women of all ages since he was seventeen; worldly women, fashionable women, dark and mysterious women with violet eyes and sleek black hair, women that looked like they’d stepped off the cover of a magazine, wearing the latest robes and thick, smoldering dark makeup, witches anyone would find sexy. But it wasn’t until he’d spent hours with Hermione in the library reading and grading essays together that he’d realized how he really felt, what he really wanted. He’d watched her twist her plain brown hair up into a knot, securing it with a pencil and wanted nothing more than to run his fingers through it. He watched her chew on her chapped, makeup free lips while she read and he wanted to soothe them with his tongue. When she wrapped an old worn grey cardigan around herself he couldn’t help but watch how it hugged stretched around her breasts and draped over her hips. And when she laughed at something he said he could almost hear what she would sound like in the throes of ecstasy and his mind would wander to filthy, irredeemable places, places he never thought he’d find himself with Granger.

The sun had set completely and he was on his second firewhiskey when he heard a knock on his door.

“Yeah? I’m not on patrol tonight…” He called out from across the room where he was leaned back on the two legs of his chair, his feet propped up on the desk.

“Draco?”

Her voice was small, barely audible through the thick door, but he jumped up from his chair, knocking two books to the floor. With a flick of his wand he unlocked and opened the door to his suite to find Granger standing there, wearing a pale blue satin robe and nightgown, her hair damp from showering and laying in waves that she’d brought forward to hang over one shoulder.

“Can I come in?” She asked, picking at the cuticles of her thumbs, looking up at him through her lashes.

Draco looked disheveled, his tie loosened, the top couple of buttons of his shirt undone, bare feet shuffling over the stone floor. She found it endearing. She felt warm on the back of her neck.

“Of course, yes, what’s up?” He asked, trying to sound as casual as possible.

She looked at the old clock over his mantle and it started to chime. He looked as well and gulped down a tightness in his throat. It was eight o’clock.

“Granger…earlier when I said that I…”

She stepped in closer and wrapped her arms around his neck, already feeling the thing she’d been looking for, the ache, the need. Going up on her tip toes she brushed her lips over his, the most innocent, softest kiss he’d ever received, and he placed his hands on her hips tentatively, but it was a comfortable sort of weight on her bones. She kissed him again, opening her mouth this time, closing her eyes, hoping he would follow suit, desperate for him not to reject her, not to make a joke. He didn’t.

“I do want you to teach me the art of seduction,” she said, breaking away, giving him a shy, but devastatingly beautiful grin. “I don’t want to look like an idiot…in…in front of Ron. I want to make sure I’m doing it…right. I want you to show me how to…well…I guess, seduce him.”

He pulled her in close, his arm tight around her waist, unable to get enough of the silkiness of her robe, the heat of her skin, the way her hair smelled, like raspberries and vanilla, her eyes so bright and wide.

“Hermione, I was just joking…I…I can’t teach you…”

“How to fuck?” She said, staring him down. He could tell by the glitter in her eyes that she was keen for a fight; and she didn’t intend to lose. “C’mon Malfoy, it’s just like anything else. It's research. Experimentation. Scientific procedure. You’ve been with dozens of women, right? You talk about them all the time…just…think of me as one of your harem.” He growled at that image and she got goosebumps. “I just need to know I’m not going to make a fool of myself…he’s been with…other…more…”

He bent down and kissed her hard on the mouth; he kissed her like he’d been imagining in his head for months now, his fingers sunk deep in her hair, his tongue slipping over hers, warm and wet and silky, a little whimper of surprise vibrating on her lips.

“He’s a fool to be with anyone but you,” he whispered, breaking the kiss to nibble at her jawline, to whisper in her ear. “No matter what you give him, you could never look foolish.”

She moaned at the shiver he sent through her blood when he whispered, the wet sounds of his mouth near her ear.

“Tell me what you would want,” she said, her voice gaining confidence every time they touched, every time he kissed her. “Just tell me what you would want me to do.”

“I…Hermione…”

He tried to pull away from her, to be the sensible one in this scenario.  He tried not to be the wolf devouring the lamb that wandered off the path. Were he the Draco he used to be he’d use every bit of her insecurity to his advantage, wringing everything from her and leaving her behind. But he didn’t want to be that man. He wasn’t that man anymore.

But she grabbed his elbow, pulling him back.

“It doesn’t have to be emotional, Malfoy,” she said, untying the knot in her robe and letting it puddle on the floor at her feet. “It’s just sex. We…we don’t mean anything to each other anyway.”

The nightgown was blue satin as well, whisper thin straps and delicate lace on the hem.  He’d never seen her legs, or rather…so much of her legs, so long and slim, exposed to mid thigh, the satin like tranquil blue water smoothed over her hips and the flat plane of her stomach. He swallowed hard at the sight of her hardened nipples outlined by the fabric. She was trying to detach herself, to convince herself that this was nothing but a physical exercise, but he’d seen her fingers shaking as she undid her belt, saw her eyes wet with tears when he’d told her Ron was a fool. He sat down on the edge of his sofa and ran a hand through his hair. His body had already decided his course of action, but he was trying to ignore it. And then she walked over to him. She stood in front of him and put a hand on his cheek and he lifted his eyes to hold her gaze.

“Please,” she said.

And before he could stop himself, his mouth opened and he said,

“Strip.”

She stepped back, clearing her throat.

“Show him what he’s been missing,” he said, his voice cracking on the words. “Show him that he’s been settling for when the treasure was at home. Give him a taste of what he wants so badly, but don’t let him touch…not right away.”

Giving him a slight nod, Hermione slipped the straps of her nightgown from her shoulders while Malfoy held his breath, his heart on the verge of exploding. Was this actually happening?  The fabric slid down over her hips and there she stood, completely naked in front of him, lit by the glow of the fire.

She was completely shaved but for a closely trimmed narrow strip of dark hair between her legs and when she felt him looking at her, when she realized this was actually Draco Malfoy looking at her naked, licking his lips like a hungry werewolf, his eyes flashing like silver in the low light of the room, she crossed her hands in front of herself, quickly looking away from him, the intensity of his stare.

“Don’t,” he said, standing in front of her, running a finger over the ridge of her collarbone. “Don’t hide. You’re…”

Her eyes flicked up to meet his, wide and expectant, a student looking for instruction. He took hold of both of her wrists and placed her hands at her sides, exposing her completely.

“You’re beautiful. You have nothing to hide. Don’t ever hide.”

He kissed her again, holding her face in his hands, pressing against her naked body, letting her feel what she’d done to him, how impossibly hard she made him just by…being there. She had no need to learn seduction. It was in the way she looked into his eyes, the way she gave that lopsided smile with one eyebrow arched. She seduced him in the way she laughed or touched his arm to get his attention, the way she would pick a piece of lint from his hair without a second thought, comfortable to be so close.

But she didn’t want lessons in how to seduce Malfoy. She wanted someone else.

Her hand moved to the front of his black trousers, and he closed his eyes as he felt her hand close over his length, a tiny “oh” escaping from her lips. She kissed him harder, her other hand in his hair, moaning with every swipe of her tongue, squeezing and stroking him through the fabric of his pants.

It was building, that pulsing, throbbing need, the heaviness low in her belly. Just feeling how hard he was, how…big…he was, was making her wetter, and hotter, and she needed to touch every part of him, to see every inch of his skin. She wanted to kiss the tendons that stood out on his neck, the swell of his biceps. She wanted to lay on his chest and hear his heartbeat through his skin, press her lips to his belly, wrap her hair around his cock and take all of him down her throat. Every thing she'd ever read about, imagined, dreamed about she wanted to do.  She wanted to do it with him. The more they kissed, the more her bare breasts brushed over the fabric of his shirt, his cock hard against her hip, the filthier her thoughts became.

Without instruction from him she pulled at the buckle of his belt, fumbled with the button of his trousers, slipping her hand inside. His hand ran down her back, over her ass and he tugged her hips tight against his, falling backwards onto the couch, pulling her naked body onto his lap. She laughed and his heart ached at the sound of it, that clear, ringing giggle, the little sigh at the end as she let her forehead rest in the curve of his shoulder.

“Hermione…this isn’t…”

She pulled back from unbuttoning his shirt, her brows knit in confusion, her cheeks and chest flushed red from arousal. All he wanted in the world was to lay her down, to fit himself between her legs, to give her the ecstasy he knew he could deliver…make her feel like a goddess…

“Draco…”

“The thing is Hermione,” he said, trying not to look at her beautiful naked body, her strong, angelic face. “This may not mean anything to you. It may just be…academic…but I’ve realized…”

“Draco,” she shook her head, trying to stop him, but he held up a hand.

“I’ve realized that you do mean something to me. You mean more than I ever thought you could.” He closed his eyes as she ran her fingers through his hair. “I want you to be happy, and I want you to…I just…Hermione, this is your first time and it shouldn’t be like this. It should be with someone important to you. It should be with someone…someone that you care about.”

When he opened his eyes again she was smiling and it was one of those infuriating, wonderful, smug smiles that told him she knew something he didn’t. Running her thumb over his eyebrow, down his nose, tracing the cupid’s bow of his lips, she nodded.

“I know Draco. I’ve realized that too,” she said, her hands still moving to unbutton his shirt. “I’ve known it for a while. You’re right. I should be with someone I care about,” she said, leaning down to kiss his chest. “That’s why I want my first time to be with you.”


	4. Chasing The Snitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part of my Tom Felton Single Photo Writing Challenge based on this photo:
> 
> https://www.deviantart.com/judydepp/art/Draco-Malfoy-205230692
> 
> I have other entries in the TFSPWC that aren't Draco related. Visit my tumblr gracediamondsfear/tagged/tom felton single photo writing challenge. Thanks!

Draco sat on the sidelines of the pitch, Crabbe and Urquhart looking him over with their arms crossed, brows furrowed in concern. He’d had a midair collision with Chang and his leg was sliced open by a bolt sticking out of the stands. The wound was deeper and more painful than he cared to admit, and would probably leave ANOTHER on his growing list of irreversible scars.

“You can’t go up again mate,” Crabbe said. “If there’s blood you’re out of the game, you know the rules.”

“Fuck the rules you twat. Get a wand, do a Tergeo, I’m going back in.”

“You’re not,” Urquhart said, blocking Malfoy’s view of the field. “We’ve already got Harper warming up Besides, you know if you went up you'd just spend the rest of the game trying to knock out Chang for spite. Just go back to the locker room and cool off. If we waste anymore time we’re going to be penalized for taking this time out.”

“JUST DO A DAMN HEALING SPELL,” he spat, but Crabbe and Urquhart were already gone, zooming off on the brooms Malfoy’s father had paid for. “Ungrateful pricks.”

He picked up his broom and limped off the pitch to stamping feet and a rousing, razzing chant of “So Long Malfoy”. Before exiting completely he turned and gave everyone the two-fingered salute, something that would surely earn him detention from McGonagall; but he’d long given up caring about his record in that regard.

 

Hermione was huddled in an alcove just inside the entrance to the men’s locker room with her new book on Greek Myths. The girls’ locker room was always damp and cold and had no natural sunlight since it had been a storage room back before girls were allowed to play Quidditch. She came down here during games (even when Gryffindor played) because it was blissfully quiet and there was no one there to question her as to why she wasn’t at the match “showing house spirit”. She could just be alone in the silence, slipping out unnoticed as soon as she heard the roar of victory and final score from the pitch, slipping into the crowd as they headed back to the dorms, no one the wiser. It was the perfect hiding spot.

 

Draco kicked open the heavy wooden door with his good leg and threw his broom sending it clattering across the stone floor, landing only feet from where she sat.

“Dammit,” he muttered under his breath. He shuffled toward one of the stone benches and she could see that he was limping.

The investigator in her wanted to yell, _what happened?_ and she nearly had to bite her cheek to keep quiet. Trapped, she sat there frozen, hoping he’d head for the showers and give her the time to escape. Instead he stood there near the lockers and started undoing the fastenings of his uniform, letting the heavy green robes fall to the ground where he kicked them into the corner. She swore under her breath as he took off the white t-shirt that he wore beneath the robes and just stood there for a minute, rubbing his eyes with two fingers, lost in thought.

There was something…enthralling about him standing there in just his riding pants and tall black leather boots, his bare, scarred chest and leather wrist guards. This was a Malfoy she’d never seen before, sweaty and unkempt, mud streaked across his cheeks, his white blonde hair damp and hanging in front of his face. He was…beautiful, like an ancient warrior, a gladiator. She could see a thin trail of hair below his navel, disappearing into the waistband of his tight pants…

Her book fell.

Draco looked up and over his shoulder but she’d already scrambled back into the shadows, out of view.

“Who’s there? Goyle?”

She held her breath, her book held tight to her chest as she made a thousand wishes for him to just walk the other way. But he didn’t. He reached into the locker and pulled out his wand then turned so that he was facing her and sat down hard on the bench. From this angle she could see the blood soaking through his pants, the fabric torn.

“Tergeo,” he said, flicking the wand at his leg.

Some of the blood disappeared but he had to know that it wouldn’t heal the wound. Tergeo just cleaned it. He stood then and unbuttoned the waistband. Hermione thought her cheeks would burst into flames. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t sit there and watch him strip naked. But if she stood up he’d see her and hex her to hell and back. But the wound was bad.

“You’ll need Dittany,” she said suddenly, and far too loud for the small, low ceilinged room.

“What the hell…Granger?” He glared at her, his pants undone, hanging low on his hips, his leather covered hands curled into fists. “Get the hell out of here.”

“I’m…I’m going…I was just…it was…” she made her way to the door but decided to turn back. “You won’t fix it with Tergeo. You know that right?”

“Yes I know that you miserable swot. Thanks for the charms lesson.”

They stood there, scowling at each other and she noticed that his cheeks were also red, his eyes glittering with what she assumed was rage but…well, it looked good on him, so different from the usual aloof boredom that he wore around school. He looked much more...alive.

“Its just…” she hesitated, then set her book down, walking over closer to him. Her beaded bag went everywhere with her these days and she was always prepared. “I have Dittany. It can help.”

His head was tipped down, examining his fingernails to appear as if he were ignoring her, but now he glanced up. Why did she have to be a muggle? It was a question a lot of the Slytherin boys had been asking themselves lately. They’d all been raised to believe muggleborn witches were barely human…smelly, dirty, unattractive monsters. And here was Granger. Damn it. She was wearing a pair of tight jeans, a delicious piece of apparel that purebloods never took part in, and a charcoal gray sweater that was snug over her hips and smooth around her breasts. Her hair was pulled back in a clip and it looked like…well it looked like beautiful, soft, brown hair. He hadn’t been this close to Granger since second year and now he could smell her, her fruity, bright soap or shampoo. She wore some sort of glossy lipstick that made her stubborn pout look so…

Suckable.

“Hand it over then. I can pour a bottle on my own leg,” he said, angry at how his mind was wandering.

“Like hell I will. I’ll do it myself,” she said, rummaging through her bag. “Sit down.”

He sighed and pulled down the blood soaked pants.  She gasped and almost turned away until she saw that he was wearing underwear. Very tight, very…flattering, if not completely revealing, black underwear, his thighs thick and toned from flying.

Draco saw exactly where her gaze fell and couldn’t help but smirk at her before sitting down.

“Take it all in, Granger,” he said, sitting on the bench. “You’ll not see the likes of this over in G Tower.”

She rolled her eyes and pulled the Dittany from her bag. The wound was deep and garish; a jagged six-inch gash right in the meat of his thigh. She crouched down between his legs and he leaned back on his palms to watch her work. He’d had plenty of girls in this position, on this very bench in fact, but there was something about seeing the almighty Granger kneeling in front of him that made the skin on the back of his neck prickle. There was something about the serious look on her face, the way she tipped her head to look at the wound as if she genuinely cared, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth. She pulled out her wand and performed a Scourgify, and it tingled all up and down his leg.

“Sorry,” she said. “Should have warned you.”

Her voice was soft and soothing, he could hear the wet sounds of her lips parting.

“It’s fine,” he said through gritted teeth, closing his eyes to distract himself, to stop from looking at the swell of her breasts.

She touched him. Her fingers were on his leg just above his knee and then he felt the cool stream of the Dittany over the wound. He hissed at the sting and she felt his muscles tense beneath her hand. Still his eyes were closed…until he felt her breath. He opened his eyes and saw her leaning forward, her lips pursed, blowing a cool stream of air over the wound. Her hand was stil on his knee and he could see down the front of her v-neck sweater.

And his body was responding.

“Fuck, stop…” he said, pushing her back with more force than he’d intended, knocking her back on her heels.

“I’m sorry…I was…” she said.

But it was too late. She saw why he pushed her away. She saw what she’d done to him and the knowledge of that sent a ripple of heat through her blood, a thrumming pulse between her legs.

Without a word Hermione leant forward, both hands on his knees, blowing on the healing wound again, moving her lips just slightly so that the stream moved higher, teasing him. Draco didn’t stop her, staring at the crown of her head, her long lashes, the curve of her jaw.

“I don’t think you’ve ever…been this close to me before, have you Granger,” he said, his words cracking into a weak whisper. He dug his fingers into the stone of the bench to keep from grabbing a fistful of her hair and griding his cock into her face.

“No,” she said, wedging herself further between his legs. “I don’t think you’ve ever been this close to me either.”

She looked up at him and licked her bottom lip. The wound on his leg was nearly healed, just a red scratch that would be nothing but a pale line in the morning. His eyes burned into hers, pupils dilated so wide she was reminded of a lunar eclipse.

“It’s still early on in the game isn’t it,” she said, her hands moving slowly, further up his legs.

“They’ve still got another hour out there at least,” he said, the corner of his mouth turning up into the tiniest smile that she returned with the same subtlety.

“Whatever will we do—“

He lunged forward, ignoring the pain deep in his leg, and sunk both hands into her hair, crushing his mouth against hers, his whole body shivering when she whimpered against his lips. She wrapped her arms around his neck and matched his ferocity, her tongue slipping deep into his hot, open mouth, sweeping over his as he laid her down on the hard stone floor. As he pulled her sweater over her head his knee slipped up between her legs, pressing the seam of her jeans against her clit and she gasped, her fingernails gouging into his shoulders.

“Malfoy!” She cried out in surprise, and he pulled back to smile at her, his hand slipping down to her waistband.

“Help me get these off Granger…I don’t like to wait.”

While she shimmied out of the rest of her clothes he reached for his uniform, folding it in thirds and putting it under her head. She smiled at this tiny consideration but was soon distracted when he pulled off his underwear and knelt between her spread legs.

“Well well, I think you’re right,” she said, reaching out to stroke him, to feel the heat and thickness of his hardened prick. “I don’t think I will see the likes of this in G Tower.”

He pushed inside her, groaning at the silky heat of her pussy gripping him. What did he do to make her so wet? It didn’t matter. She wrapped her legs tight around his hips and pulled him down on top of her, kissing him as he started his slow, deep rhythm.

“Fuck Granger, who would have thought…” he couldn’t even get the words out, didn’t even know what he was trying to say…his brain drew a blank as he sunk into her again and again, her heels digging into the backs of his thighs, her lips against his neck.

After a few minutes she pushed him up and off of her, guiding him to the bench. Straddling his lap she lowered herself onto his cock and began to ride, her arms draped around his neck. He pushed the straps of her bra down her shoulders, pulling her full breasts free from the lacy cups. Bending down he took one of her nipples between his lips, sucking hard and she suddenly bucked against him, a high-pitched whine piercing the air as she sunk a hand into his hair, pulling him tight to her.

“Oh she likes that,” he growled, pinching and plucking the other breast as he continued to suck. “She likes me sucking her tits…”

And then they heard it. The roar of the crowd. The echoing call,

“Chang has caught the snitch! Ravenclaw wins!”

Both of them stopped, staring at each other with a mix of horror and disappointment. Hermione tried to climb off of his lap but he held fast, his fingers digging into her hips.

“Oh no. I’m not letting you out of here without both of us finishing,” he said, laying her down on the bench. “And I don’t care who sees it.”

He stood then and put her legs over his shoulders, his hips pounding hard against her as he circled her clit with his thumb. Chang was forever his arch enemy, cutting his time short inside Granger's tight little quim. He could feel his own climax rolling closer, the tight heat, the racing pulse. Her insides started to ripple and clench along the length of his cock and he moved faster.

“Come. I want to hear you come. Come for me, say my name. I want to hear it,” he said.

He’d fully expected her to comply, to cry out for Malfoy when the orgasm took her, but instead she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him down to her mouth and breathed…

“Draco…” in his ear. “Fuck Draco I’m coming…”

It was all it took. She felt him stiffen, his hips bucking one last time as he emptied inside her, his mouth open in a silent cry, damp forehead pressed to her shoulder.

“Holy shit,” he breathed, pulling himself up to look her in the eye. “What did we just…”

“Shh!” Hermione covered his mouth with her hand.

Outside the locker room she could hear the first players approaching from the pitch. Draco’s eyes opened wide and he quickly pulled out of her. She scrambled for her clothes and pulled them on, her hair exploding from its clip, her thighs sticky, face red, kiss bruised lips, swollen and irresistable. Draco pulled a towel from his locker and slung it around his waist, pushing his hair back from his face, trying to look casual. Before she could slip out the door he grabbed her by her elbow and spun her around, kissing her hard on the mouth.

“That was good, yeah?” He said, his eyes searching hers as if making sure it had all been real.

“It was very good,” she said, throwing a wink over her shoulder as she left.

 

The teams shuffled in, swearing and well beaten, stripping out of their stinking uniforms and updating Draco on the game.

“What the hell is this?” Goyle asked, holding up an old, leather bound book. He flipped it in his hand and read aloud. “Romantic Myths of The Ancient Greeks. What the fuck?”

Everyone burst into laughter and Draco felt his face burning up.

“Open it up,” Warrington called out from the shower. “If it’s a library book whoever checked it out, their name will appear on the inside cover!”

“It’s mine,” Draco said, diving across the room and snatching out of Goyle’s hands. He’d never hear the end of it of course; Draco Malfoy reading love stories in the locker room, but the alternative of being found out was worse. He tucked it safely into his bookbag and headed for the showers.

Besides, the book belonged to Granger. Now he’d have to find a time to return it to her…in private.


	5. Granger's Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompted/Inspired by this gif:
> 
> https://66.media.tumblr.com/a5e369eff92cdd1b7adf214b1c7eb083/tumblr_p5w0mkgXGY1v9cgpko1_500.gif
> 
> It's almost Granger's birthday and she's asked Draco for ONE simple thing.

As of vain and arrogant and generally self-involved as Draco Malfoy was, he absolutely hated having his picture taken, ever since he was a child. Every year his mother would drag out the most formal of robes and they would all have to gather in the library for a new family portrait that hung over the fireplace and it inevitably involved hours of primping and preening and his mother charming and smoothing his hair into a perfect sculpture “to show off that beautiful face” she would say, kissing him on the forehead, leaving a lipstick print behind. In the Fall there were the annual Hogwarts portraits and the Quidditch Team Photos, everyone posing and demanding he smile, wasting time for something that ultimately seemed false…a forced smile, forced happiness, familial bliss, team camaraderie. And then there was the Prophet, always chasing his family around, waiting outside of restaurants, shops, the Ministry, the Wizengamot, they’d even found a photographer hiding outside one of the garden sheds at the Manor, trying to get a shot of Lucius looking disheveled for the gossip pages. Once the war started and the rumors along with it, Draco could barely walk down the street without flashbulbs going off even though he did nothing but scowl and growl and flip them off, doing everything but dropping his pants to keep the picture from being suitable for publication. His foul behavior only served to encourage them and he eventually made the front page for pushing a photographer into the gutter and smashing his camera beneath his boot.

“But look at my beautiful face!” He told his mother, sneering as he threw the paper onto the dining room table.

So when Hermione asked him for only one thing for her birthday…one inexpensive, supremely easy, very romantic thing…he’d nearly fell to his knees begging her to ask for something else. Anything else, a fifty carat diamond necklace, her own Hippogriff, the moon. Anything but a ‘nice picture’ she could keep on her desk at work.

But instead of collapsing in tearful supplication he’d just looked at her, lying beside him in their bed, her head propped up, chin in hand. The sun was streaming through the window, lighting the edges of her hair like a halo, her smile lighting up her whole face. They’d been married nearly a year and she’d made innumerable sacrifices to be with him, losing friendships, burning connections at work, agreeing to live in the Manor even though she still went quiet sometimes, unwilling to walk around the first floor when she was alone. And she’d gladly done all of those things, insisting that none of them really mattered because she loved him and she wanted him to be happy.

Of course he’d bought her gifts; necklaces, earrings, jeweled combs for her hair. He bought her first edition books with rare leather covers, amazing wizard artifacts, old crystal balls and rare potions in cut crystal bottles. She’d accepted them all with wide eyed appreciation, insistence that they were too much, that she didn’t need these things, but he’d simply ignored her protests, following his father’s lead…keeping his wife happy by buying her things.

“One picture?” He confirmed, running a finger over her collarbone, the creamy skin of her shoulder. “It’s not something we’re going to make a habit of?”

“One picture. A nice picture, wearing that blue suit you wore on our first date.”

He snarled audibly, wrapping a lock of her hair around his finger, anxious to move on to the ‘not talking’ part of their morning. The sheet had fallen to her waist and he silently thanked Merlin that she slept naked.

 

 

A month or so later, Draco woke her with a kiss.

“Happy Birthday Granger,” he said. “Time for presents.”

“Pres…” she blinked and stretched, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her hand. “Can I wake up first?”

“No,” he said, bonking her on the head with a small, slim box with a silver bow. “Open it.”

Hermione sat up smiling and pulled at the ribbon.  Inside was a thick silver frame holding a picture of Draco frowning, scowling almost, unable to sit still, tugging at the collar of his shirt.

“WHAT?! Wait! This is the wrong one! That lazy eyed, rotten toothed bastard framed the wrong print!” He grabbed it from her hand trying to stuff it back in the box. “I’ll turn him into a fucking newt.”

Hermione pulled it back, holding it to her chest, safely away from his angry hands.

“I love it. I want this one. You always say you hate our wedding pictures because they’re fake and posed and you never really smile like that. This is my Draco, the grumpy, impatient, vain…” she put the picture on the nightstand and arched an eyebrow, “…moody, broody, sexy, smoldering…”

He laughed and rolled over, pinning her on her back, kissing her partially to shut her up, although he never got enough of her compliments.

“You really like it?” He asked, and she nearly laughed out loud at how childlike and desperate for approval he looked, his eyes wide, as if he honestly didn’t realize it was the best gift he’d ever given.


End file.
